June 29, 2008

Everywhere you look today it's Danish Pastry. Why? Because Kelly of Sass and Veracity and Ben of What's Cooking? selected Danish Braids for the Daring Bakers June challenge. Both Kelly and Ben thought the selected recipe, from Sherry Yard's The Secrets of Baking, would be a great way to introduce the rewards of laminated dough. Danish pastries are in the same family as puff pastry, so this challenge was a great jumping off place for those of us who (thankfully) missed the croissant challenge.

Every month's challenge has a few strict guidelines and some areas left open to each baker's own interpretation and preferences. Kelly and Ben asked that we follow the recipe for the dough to the letter, but encouraged us to use whatever fillings we'd like. We also had to make at least one braid--the recipe yields enough dough for two braids, and we were free to do whatever we liked with the second half of the recipe.

I loved this challenge and this recipe. The dough itself is made with ground cardamom and orange zest, which imparted the most heavenly smell to our apartment (Jack gets kudos for grinding whole cardamom pods for me in a mortar). I made one braid early in the month and froze the rest of the dough while I mulled over what I'd do with it. Ultimately I loved the braid so much that I just made a second one. I really wish I had doubled the recipe, so that I could say I still have some of that fabulous pastry in my freezer!

June 27, 2008

"You do not like them.So you say.Try them! Try them!And you may.Try them and you may, I say."

Okay, yes, I am taking liberties with Dr. Seuss here, but I think you'll like green eggs with lamb. And if your eggs and lamb (and onions and garlic and parsley and cilantro) are locally produced the earth will like you, too.

So it's the middle of the week and there are odds and ends needing to be used up before the next CSA pick-up on Saturday. Why not make a big hash of potatoes, leeks, and kale, flavor it with charmoula and crown the glorious mess with a merguez sausage and a poached egg?

Bring about 3 inches of water to a high simmer in a large skillet (this will be your poaching water).

While the water is heating, saute the leeks with the olive oil in another large skillet until soft and translucent over medium heat. Add the potatoes and garlic and let them heat for a minute or two and then add the charmoula, stirring gently to combine. When everything is nice and hot, push the potato mixture to the side and add the mergeuz patties.

Once you've turned the sausage, you'll want to be sure your poaching water is ready to go and get the eggs ready by breaking them one at a time into a ramekin or coffee cup. When you're sure your sausage is ready it's time to poach the eggs. Slide each egg gently into the simmering
water. Let them poach about 2 minutes for runny
yolks-- longer if you are so inclined.

In the meantime, plate up the hash and sausage. Remove the eggs with a slotted spoon and let the water run off before gently transferring them to the top merguez patties. Garnish with charmoula and dig in.

Drop the garlic clove and peppers into a food processor and whirl. Add the cilantro, parsley, lemon juice and cumin and pulse a few times. Then add the olive oil while pulsing until the consistency looks right. It shouldn't look quite as runny as pesto does.

Left-overs can be frozen in plastic bags and used later to flavor fish, soups, and all sorts of things.

I was able to rule out traditional American breakfast pancakes right away, having been traumatized by sogginess as a child. I still won't eat them, and I shy away from syrup, as well (syrup + big thick pancake = soggy), though I do love a nice crispy waffle with jam on top. I could go on about my childhood trauma, but I'll spare you and just get to pancakes I do like.

I love savory pancakes of all sorts and particularly Korean jeon (or jun). Jeon are pancake-like dishes made from a sturdy batter of flour, eggs, water and a little oil. Different fillings result in different dishes, and include scallions, shellfish, white fish, meats and all sorts of vegetables. Even though the name of the dish changes with each type of filling used, most people just call any Korean pancake pa jun (or pajeon) which is actually the well-known version made with scallions.

Pajeon are large pancakes made in a skillet, requiring cooking on both sides. Although the batter is very sturdy, they can be a little tricky to flip if you've really loaded them up with filling. You can watch Mark Bittman prepare them here, and see the recipe I adapted here.

In a medium bowl, mix the flour, eggs and oil with the water until a smooth batter is formed. Stir in the scallion greens, chives, carrots, squash and fish.

Heat the oil in an 8- inch nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Ladle in about a quarter of the batter and spread it out evenly into a circle. If the batter seems too thick you can thin it with a little more water for the next ones. Turn the heat down to medium and cook until the bottom is browned, about 3 minutes, then flip and cook for another 2 minutes. Repeat with the remaining batter. As the pancakes are finished you can drain the on paper towels, and place in a warm oven to keep hot.

Make the dipping sauce by mixing together the vinegar, sesame oil, hot pepper oil, soy sauce and sugar.

June 23, 2008

When it comes to strawberry shortcake I'm firmly in the biscuit camp. That's how my Grandmother and my Mom always made it, and that's how I make it. I don't mind eating versions made with sponge cake... but you'll never see it made that way in my house. Proper strawberry shortcake is assembled from split just-out-of-the-oven biscuits graced with a dab of butter, over which are layered a LOT of sliced berries covered with a crown of whipped cream.

Our CSA fruit share this weekend included two quarts of strawberries again, which
were so ripe we were afraid we wouldn't be able to get them home before
they turned into juice. You can see that a few of them look suspiciously dark and mushy, and there was no keeping any aside for another dish later, so we quickly rinsed and sliced them and resigned ourselves to a strawberry shortcake blow-out.

For this month's Taste and Create I was partnered with our hostess, Nicole of For The Love of Food. She literally saved my butt, because she had a really beautiful photo of and recipe for buttermilk biscuits... and I had all those berries to use! I usually make my biscuits with cream when they're going to embrace berries, but these buttermilk biscuits looked too good to ignore. Unfortunately, my annoying and badly calibrated oven was running hot, and crisped up the bottoms before the biscuits got a chance to really rise, but I must say they tasted lovely. Do visit Nicole's post to see how they ought to look!

Prepare the berries:
Pick through the berries and set aside a few for garnishing. Wash, hull and slice the rest of them and toss with sugar to taste. Chill until serving time.

Make the biscuits (recipe courtesy of For the Love of Food):
Preheat oven to 235°C (450°F).

Mix all dry ingredients together in a bowl. Add the Butter in smaller chunks and cut together with a fork or pastry cutter until there are just tiny little pea-sized crumbles. Then, add the butter milk and mix in, once it gets too sticky, use your hand to mix.

Spread a teeny tiny bit of flour onto your counter top - I mean a supper thin layer, we don’t want too much to transfer to the biscuits, we just don’t want the dough to stick. Ok, now make the dough into a ball, take your rolling pin, and beat it. Give it about 4-6 whacks and then fold it in half. Do this over and over until you’ve done it 10 times. Then, roll the dough out so that it’s about 2 cm thick (about 3/4 inch). Then, cut the biscuits with a cookie cutter, biscuit cutter, or metal measuring cup. You will have some dough left over, fold and whack, fold and whack - 2 times is enough. Then roll it a bit, and cut again, until there’s no dough left.

Place them on a baking sheet really close together (touching sides) so that they rise up and not out. Bake for 12-15 minutes.

Assemble the shortcakes:
Whip the cream (I don't add sugar, but you can add a tablespoon of confectioner's sugar if you like). Split the warm biscuits and place a pat of butter on one half of each biscuit. Spoon the strawberries over the buttered half and add a dollop of whipped cream. Set the tops back on and dollop more whipped cream over them. Garnish with a whole berry.

June 22, 2008

So, in an attempt to do my bit for the resistance against the intimidating onslaught of our CSA veggie bounty, I decided it should fall upon me to do something with the garlic scapes. I'd never even heard of garlic scapes until recently so I hadn't the first idea what to do with them. They looked a bit like spring onions that had been attacked by a crazed, curling-tong-wielding, veg-hating hairdresser. Thrusting that rather disturbing thought forcefully aside I did a bit of googling and came up with a very promising-sounding pasta dish - an adaptation of a recipe by Chef Dante Boccuzzi of Aureole, right herein New York. I made a few very minor adjustments to the recipe: obviously I scaled it down for two people rather than four, used about a half tablespoon of truffle oil (thanks Pasticerra!) instead of the truffle butter and I used a little more stock than Mr. Boccuzzi recommends. I also used crimini mushrooms (because that's what we had), and ziti instead of orzo. Other than that, I didn't mess with what turned out to be sheer pasta perfection.

Over low heat, gently cook the onion in half of the olive oil, until it's tender. Season with salt and pepper. Meanwhile, heat the stock in another pan. Add the pasta to the onions and mix thoroughly. Gradually add the stock to the pasta, cover and cook at a low simmer, Stir fairly frequently to make sure it cooks evenly. It takes about 15-20 minutes, but check it to be sure.

In a large skillet heat the remaining olive oil and sear the mushrooms and garlic scapes until golden brown. Add the butter and keep stirring until it browns a bit, then strain the mushrooms and scapes; set aside and keep warm.

Drizzle the truffle oil over the pasta, add the grated parmesan and the arugula. Give it a stir until the arugula just starts to wilt. Stir in the cream just before serving. Serve the pasta and top with the mushroom and scapes. Garnish with a few shavings of parmesan.

This method of cooking the pasta (absorption) was new to me. It involves using much less liquid than the old immerse-in-water-and-boil routine. The idea is to simmer slowly and let the flavours of the stock and other ingredients infuse the pasta. I have to say, it works. I gave the pasta almost twenty minutes, stirred it often, and it was not only beautifully al dente but also much tastier than pasta cooked in the normal way. As for those scapes, what a delightfully subtle flavour! The texture was somewhat like a more yielding asparagus but the taste... just a hint of garlic and a very slight saltiness which combined really well with the earthy mushrooms, the bitter arugula, the onion and the salty parmesan. And then the smooth (but not cloying) mouth feel provided by the butter, oil and cream made the whole effect a smooth, savoury joy. Ann and I both agreed this dish was a major hit, and we shall be doing it for as long as the CSA keep giving us these delicious, curly little stalks of delight.

June 20, 2008

I ended the previous episode with a reference to my post-graduation move to London, but that was a little premature. There are a couple more tales to tell from my student days before I go there. The first of these definitely has a food-related side to it, but in a very different way from the other posts in this series. There'll be no recipes or restaurants here. There won't even be any descriptions of dishes - lousy or otherwise. There will, however, be plenty of food. Tons and tons of it. Seemingly infinite lines of it, shifting along mechanised conduits and tumbling into vast blanching tanks and freezers; relentless rivers of produce flowing through a sinister steel and plastic landscape on an inexorable journey to seas of supermarkets and small food stores. When I die I'll go to heaven because I've done my time in hell: working in a frozen food factory at the very bottom of the labour ladder.

I had no idea what to expect, but I suspected it would be tough. It was. In 1977 – the summer before I went to university - I secured a summer job at a place called Northray Frozen Foods. We "casuals" (or "bloody spongeing student *!#*s", as the "regulars" preferred to call us) were expected to work a minimum of five eight-hour shifts per week. These shifts rotated on a weekly basis: one week on mornings (7:00 – 3:00), the next on evenings (3:00 – 11:00) and the third on nights (11:00 – 7:00). The reality was that this was the busiest time of the year; the gentle arable fields of Lincolnshire were bursting with ripe green veg, and the peas (and later, beans) needed to be harvested, processed and packed as quickly and efficiently as possible. 12-hour shifts were routine and we generally worked Saturdays and often Sundays, too. The good thing was that this was proper, union-backed labour so we were paid for every bit of overtime we did. As temporary student workers desperate for cash we were all keen to get as much of this lucrative overtime as possible, even if the work nearly killed us. During the height of the harvest this was no problem; there was more than enough for everyone. But as the season drew to a close the overtime gradually became as sparse as the denuded pea fields. It then became clear that the supervisors were far from averse to playing "favourites" in allocating overtime - one of my first experiences of worker exploitation, comrades!

The factory was situated out in the Lincolnshire countryside so I needed to take a company bus to get there and back. Night shifts were especially tough because I had to curtail socialising with my friends in the pub so that I didn't miss my 10:00 pick-up. The 45-minute ride to the factory was eased a little by having had several pints of beer to blur the edges, but this was somewhat negated by also having to contemplate the drudgery ahead, and the irksome knowledge that one's friends would still be whooping it up until time was called.

By the time the bus reached Grimsby's dismal limits it would be so full of cigarette smoke that your eyes would sting and, if you'd overdone it on the ale, you'd be feeling slightly sick. You had to cope with this for another half an hour as the bus made its way through Lincolnshire's bland landscape and then the harsh white lights of the factory would loom out of the darkness and the bus would bump down the unpaved track that led to the factory gate: a sinister iron arch with the words "Arbeit Macht Frei" engraved on its hellish, rusting facade.

Okay, I'm lying about the last bit, but it sure felt that way, sometimes. We'd stumble out of the vehicle in a cloud of cigarette smoke, then cough and grumble our way to the clock punch to make sure we got our cards stamped before the hour passed (if you missed that by even one minute you'd have your pay docked by a full quarter hour). Then we'd head to the changing room, don our battered, ill-fitting white overalls and grubby caps, and get to our posts to relieve the guys on the previous shift. It was almost exclusively guys on the line. Women – including the relatively few female student casuals - were generally found in the offices or the canteen. The seventies weren't exactly enlightened times.

What did we do, exactly? To answer that, I should probably describe the main stages of the veg-freezing line.

June 18, 2008

Yes, yes, I know that the only real way to make risotto is over the stove. I do it all winter long. But that was then and this is now. A very warm now, and anyway I told you all I was retiring the stove for the summer.

I had some beautiful asparagus to use up and I'm a little (possibly extremely) tired of salad. And besides, Lora Brody said it would work. Plus I wanted risotto and I was desperate. (But we had salad with it too, dammit!)

The recipe specified two hours in the slow cooker set on high. At one hour my risotto was looking close to done and was perfect half an hour later. At two hours (I was waiting for Jack to get home) it was the opposite of al dente. It tasted nice, but it was a bit soggy. Still, I'll be trying this again with a shorter cooking time. The notion of risotto in the height of summer without heating up the kitchen (or myself!) is one I find difficult to resist.

I substituted chopped leeks for shallots, as I had some needing to be used up, and decreased the amount of olive oil substantially.

Cut the asparagus into 1 to 1 1/2-inch pieces and blanch for about two minutes in boiling, salted water. Use a slotted spoon to remove the asparagus pieces to a bowl of cold water, shocking it into a lovely bright green color and stopping it from cooking. Drain and set aside.

Heat the oil over medium heat, and saute the shallots (or sliced leeks!) until they have softened. Add the rice and stir until all of the grains are coated with the olive oil. Add the wine and scrap up any brown bits from the bottom of the pan.

Transfer to the slow cooker and stir in the chicken broth and salt. Cover and cook on High for about 2 hours or until all liquid is absorbed. Just before serving, stir in the asparagus and cheese.

June 17, 2008

On Saturday we picked up our CSA shares, which come from Garden of Eve farm. Each week they considerately warn inform us ahead of time what we'll be deluged with receiving. This was actually very helpful, as it allowed us to plan ahead and to come to terms with the vast amount of salad we'd be eating all week. Our vegetable share included:

Additionally we signed up for an egg share (1 dozen per week); a fruit share, which included 2 quarts of strawberries and two stalks of rhubarb; and a flower share (I love getting flowers!) made up of sunflowers, snapdragons, rye, and oats.

After picking up the shares we wandered over to the Farmer's Market for rhubarb, cheeses, milk, bread, fish and meat. Then we stopped to say hello to Jessie of Cakespy, who was setting up her craft fair booth nearby, before staggering off home to start some serious greens cleaning and spinning.

And then we had lunch, which was salad. We fled the premises at dinner time to have dinner with Jessie, but we had salad for breakfast and dinner on Sunday and again for dinner Monday. Guess what we're having tonight?

This salad goes out to the current Heart of the Matter event, hosted by Ilva of Lucullian Delights. I'm very happy to be able to say that most of the ingredients were organic and locally grown/raised/produced-- I'm not willing to live without lemons, olives and olive oil, and I indulged myself with the out of season cucumber. Do drop by the HotM blog to look at the many round-ups of delicious healthy food!

Greek Salad with Grilled Lamb
serves 2

Disclaimer: I know perfectly well that real Greek salad does not ever contain lettuce, but I'm taking liberties here so that I don't have to call this dish Not Greek Salad with Grilled Lamb, and because I have a LOT of salad greens to use, okay? So please do not argue with me. THERE IS A LOT OF GREEN STUFF IN MY CRISPER.

Whisk together the lemon juice, oil, oregano and garlic, and add the lamb. Let it marinate for at least 6 hours (overnight is even better). Just before serving, grill the lamb strips (we like them rare).

June 15, 2008

Jack and Sophie went to the gym this morning and I stayed home, promising a good breakfast for them upon their return. This is where it gets a bit complicated, as I'm back to trying to lose some pounds, Sophie doesn't eat meat and has lately been avoiding dairy products, and Jack likes (in his words) "a big stonking breakfast" on Sundays. To add to the complexity of my mission we have quite a lot of greens (more about that later) and strawberries in the refrigerator, as a result of yesterday's CSA pick-up.

I knew we'd be having a strawberry salad and just needed to find an egg dish that would allow me to please both Jack and Sophie and use up more greens. Naturally I turned to my bookmarks, and found an appealing recipe for baked eggs nestled on pita bread by the talented Heidi Swanson of 101 Cookbooks. I decided to make an exception to my no baking rule and bring the oven out of retirement for half an hour. You can see her original recipe here, and my adaptation, based on the ingredients I had on hand, below.

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet and stir in the spices, leeks, garlic, celery and carrots. Cook until the carrots begin to lose their crunch, about 5 minutes. Add the tomatoes and cook until the tomatoes soften up a bit, another two or three minutes. Add the arugula and cook until it just starts to wilt, about 1 minute. Set aside.

Lightly coat each cup of the muffin tin with olive oil. Take six pieces (quarters) of the pita bread, gently open each of them and tuck them into the muffin tin cups. If the pita splits, just patch it up so that you have coverage to contain the filling and eggs.

Spoon a bit of the tomato filling into each pita cup, dividing it evenly, and creating a depression in the center.

Crack an egg into each cup, being careful not to let the egg overflow (hold back on some of the egg, if you need to). Heidi also advises trying to ensure that the yolk is level with the white, so that it all cooks evenly. The little depressions on the filling should help with this.

Bake for about 15 minutes, until the whites have set and become opaque. Serve hot garnished with a sprinkling of paprika or some reserved filling.